the Wee Braes

There were four of them in Lullabrae.
Old in their own way, and gentle, hopeful beings. 

Each rose from a different part of the island.
And like many small peoples,

they were learning to honour the softness that formed them.

Each type emerged from a different part of the island.

Pebblebraes 

Formed from the sturdy stones on the shore, creatures who long to hold things together, because they were shaped from the desire for stability. 

Mossbraes 

Sprung from the soft mosses deep in the Tanglewood, tender-hearted beings born from whispers of comfort and gentleness. 

Cloudbraes 

Drifted down from the mist made from people’s unspoken emotions, the ones carried quietly in the heart. 

Thistlebraes 

Grew from the purple thistles on the Singing Hills. Sprightly, hopeful spirits of resilience, the kind that helps someone stand up again after being knocked down. 

The heart of the Wee Braes

The four are not divided by boundary so much as by temperament.

Shore. Wood. Air. Hill.

They overlap. They interfere. They occasionally undo one another’s good work, though never entirely.

If you cross the ground attentively, you begin to sense a pattern.

A steadiness here.
A softening there.
A warning carried on the air.
A stubborn brightness on the hill.

And it’s here, standing on this ground, that you begin to see it.